The Wedding Dress(20)

“Just . . . forgot? Forgot the invitations? Forgot me? What did you forget, Tim?”

“I didn’t forget you.” He got up and tore away a paper towel to use as a napkin. “I forgot we wanted to go over the guest list and address the invitations.”

“And plan the reception. Figure out the rehearsal dinner, the flowers, the cake, the tuxes. You were planning to do that this week too. Pick out your tuxes. But tomorrow’s Thursday already.”

“Yeah, I had tuxes on my calendar, but it kept getting pushed to the next day.”

In that moment Charlotte knew. The ping of revelation resonated and swelled in her chest, drawing her mind and soul to its light. “Tim, what’s going on?”

The sound of her own doubt sprang tears from the bottle that Charlotte kept stored in her soul.

“I don’t know.” He shoved his pizza plate away from him, and Charlotte realized that since he came into the loft, he’d barely looked at her face. Reaching down, he took out one of the invitations from the box. “These are pretty, Char.”

“But they’re not going anywhere, are they?” When did she really know? Saturday up on the ridge, when the shift in the wind made her look up and stirred her heart with questions?

Tim scooted his chair over to hers. “It’s not that I don’t love you.”

“But you don’t want to get married?” She tucked her hands close to her middle and gentled his ring from her finger. When she set it on the table, those darn tears trickled to the corner of her eyes. Tim stared past her shoulder toward the dark window.

“I thought I did.” He tried to hold her hand but Charlotte withdrew. “Some of the guys from our local motocross club went up with us today. We were talking about the big race in Florida, making plans to go, when one of the guys looked at me and said, ‘Tim, you realize we’re talking about the week after June 23. Aren’t you getting married that day? Won’t you be on your honeymoon?’”

“You forgot your own wedding.” Charlotte ran her hand over the cold chill creeping down her arms. Her gaze landed on the trunk and at the moment, she felt an odd kinship to the battered, rejected box. It felt like her only ally in the loft.

“Charlotte, I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Katherine was all worried I’d hurt you.”

“Yeah, Katherine needs to mind her own business.” Tim at last peered at her face. “I love you, I do, Charlotte. I’m just not sure I’m ready to get married. Our relationship kind of knocked me off my feet. We moved so fast.”

“We didn’t move fast, Tim, you moved fast. Like I was one of your racetracks to conquer.”

“That’s not fair. I moved fast because I fell in love with you.”

“Then what’s changed?”

Tim stood and paced toward the living room. “I’m not sure. I wonder if either of us really wants to get married. We haven’t done anything to get this wedding together. You don’t have a dress. I didn’t put the deposit down on Avondale.”

Charlotte stared at the ring waiting on the table. “So what now?”

“Postpone? Wait.” He gazed at the ring. “Put that back on. We’re still engaged.”

“Is there someone else?” Charlotte swallowed the fresh rise of tears, staring at her folded fingers in her lap. She made no movement for the ring.

“If there was, would I ask you to put the ring back on? There’s no one else except maybe me. My own selfishness. I thought I was ready, but—”

“You’re thirty-two, Tim. You’re a successful Birmingham architect. If you’re not ready, then maybe I’m not the right woman.” The sharp accuracy of her own words pierced her heart.

“Am I the right man? Why have you been dragging your feet? Don’t brides rush out to buy a gown the moment they get the ring? You own a bridal shop. You have access to the newest, best gowns in the world. But—” He paused to assess her with a tender glance. “Tell me you don’t feel like something is out of step with us.”

“I guess . . . yeah, maybe.” A rebel tear slid down her cheek. “I just thought we were busy, but we’d get around to our wedding. I guess if you were really into me, and marrying me, there’d be no way you’d forget our wedding and honeymoon for a chance to go racing with the boys.” Sniffing, she caught a second tear with the back of her hand. “I don’t know much about your gender, being raised by Mama and Gert, but I do know this from working at wedding shops since high school: a man will do anything for the woman he loves and is going to marry. Shop on Super Bowl Sunday. Try on ten tuxes even though the first one was just fine. Desert his friends and hobbies, even move across the country. All for love.” Charlotte picked up the ring and met Tim in the living room. She pressed it into his palm. “If we’re not getting married on June 23, then what’s the point of pretending?”

“Charlotte, we’re not pretending, we’re waiting.”

“For what, Tim? For it to feel right? Suddenly? It felt right when you proposed the first time. You can’t cancel a wedding but keep the engagement.” She’d learned that, too, from working with brides and grooms over the past twelve years. First in the bridal shops of others, then her own. Once the wedding is postponed . . . “If we’re not getting married, then we’re not engaged.”